All That He Was
by Writer Worrall
Summary: Based on W. B. Yeats poem 'He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven', Rons view of Hermione going from the bushy haired know it all, to the girl he loves. Warning: Ramble, no speech or plot of such.     RWHG


Disclaimer: JK owns the characters and the story. W.B Yeats owns the poem. Nothing is mine. Well… except the actual words, but there hardly worth me placing a claim on so… Yup; nothings mine. And if nothings mine, you can't sue me. P

Warnings: Ramble. No speech.

A/N: This is exactly the sort of trash that I probably would avoid at all costs from other authors. Not entirely sure why I wrote it, just know I had to do something to pay homage to the poem. Not that I did it justice of course. If anything this fics probably an insult to it.

Not beta'd, mainly because I have no wish to inflict it upon either of my betas…

_Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,_

_Enwrought with golden and silver light,_

_The blue and the dim and the dark cloths_

_Of night and light and the half light,_

_I would spread my cloths under your feet:_

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;_

_I have spread my dreams under your feet;_

_Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

- W.B. Yeats, He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven

The first time he met her she was bossy. Bossy and bushy haired, and quite the know-it-all.

She was irritating as well, he discovered as the beginning weeks of his first school year went by, and in no way did he particularly like her. In fact, he disliked her. Couldn't stand her, even. And who could blame him, when all she cared about was books and rules?

She shoved her nose in where it wasn't wanted. Threatened to snitch. Forced her company on him at the most inconvenient of times and had the gall to assume they'd put their necks on the line just so that she wouldn't get in a bit of trouble.

Hate was a very strong word.

Her priorities were completely messed up. She considered being expelled worse than death. She told him so in an utterly snobby voice. He wanted to cringe.

When they were partnered she flaunted her knowledge shamefully, and showed off her skill unabashed. He pretended he didn't care when she over heard him saying it was her own fault she had no friends. And he didn't.

The painful twinge in his gut when he heard she'd been crying in the girls toilets was most certainly not guilt. He continued on as though everything was ok, as of course, it was. Knowing he'd upset her so didn't bother him in the slightest. Why would it?

But then it happened. The troll.

He wasn't a heartless bastered. She may have been an irritating, bushy haired know-it-all, but he hardly wanted her to die; that would just be cruel. He was just doing the decent thing by ducking out with Harry to look with her. The only reason he didn't go looking for a teacher was because he was so caught up in the moment. The same applied to why he went charging back into the girl's toilets with out a second thought. And his perfect levitation spell that knocked the troll out had everything to do with his own fine skill, and nothing to do with her earlier example.

She didn't dob them in. He was shocked.

She made up a story. He was gob smacked.

She made up a story that incriminated herself. He was incredulous.

After that night he found himself able to look past her frizzy mane and buck toothed exterior. He could put up with her inner encyclopaedia. He didn't find her half as irritating any more either. He found her to be a loyal friend, and her intelligence got them out of more than a few scrapes. She even helped him with his homework, without seeming as though she was just boasting.

In other words, in her he'd found a friend.

The months passed, and there first year became their second, the second their third and they remained firm friends. Oh the bickered, granted; they hardly saw eye to eye on everything. But where it mattered, where it counted, they were close.

Except the bickering got worse. Ron didn't know why they found themselves arguing so much, but by fourth year their paths collided, and not in a good way.

She was fraternising with the enemy. Famous bloody Krum, the quiditch star, the seeker he himself had most idealised, had stolen her away from him. Not that she was strictly speaking his to be stolen from, but that… prat, _vicky_, did not deserve Hermione. Did not deserve her in those beautiful dress robes. Did not deserve her with her hair done up just so, or with her lips shining in the candlelight.

And it had everything to do with who he was, and not that she'd chosen someone else. Because he wasn't interested. No matter what she said.

She was the thing Krum would miss most. That made him angry, as well as her giving him a special good bye at the end of the year. It also really grated on his nerves when she wrote him those long letters, never mind that she claimed they were only friends.

It took him a while, but eventually he admitted to himself that he liked her _that_ way. And once he'd done that he found it hard to keep his eyes off her.

_Had he the heavens embroided clothes, _

But he had little he could give her, little extravagances to make her happy.

_Enwrought with golden and silver light. _

Nor had he a keen mind such as hers. He couldn't give her the intelligent conversation she wanted, or find interest in her books she so diligently read, warm brown eyes following the text with a focus like he'd never seen in any one else.

_The blue and the dim and the dark clothes._

Oh what he'd give to make her happy. To have something he could truly offer her. Something more than his mediocre self. Something she deserved, for she deserved so much.

_Of night and the light and the half light._

Something with meaning. But there was little he could. He could ill aford anything material, and mere words and such were cheap, and she deserved far more than he could offer.

_I would spread my clothes under your feet,_

And he would, had he it to give. He'd give her everything he could. Every thing and anything to make her happy. He'd give her his love. His heart.

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams._

And that is all he had. All he _could_ give. Himself, his love and his heart. Would that be enough for her? Could he continue breathing in her ever awe-inspiring presence if it wasn't? He couldn't not give it though. It may be all he had, but he would offer it, give her all that he could.

I have spread my dreams under your feet 

He asked her out. Hoping, preying that it would be enough. That what he could give she would not reject. That she would not push him away, stomp on his love nor tear his heart in halves.

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams 

And she did. Her feet light as feathers on his dreams as she embraced what he could give. Pulled him close, nurtured his love and kept his heart safe with her own.

Oh the bickered, granted; they hardly saw eye to eye on everything. But where it mattered, where it counted, they were close. Really close.

In love, you might say.

A/N: Not sure why I really put this one up. I suppose its because I actually finish pieces of writing so rarely that when I do I might as well use them in some way. The pairing is purely because I felt It suited the poem. If any one knows of other fanfics that were inspired by or uses 'He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven' then please do let me know. If you've made it to this point then TY for sticking it through!


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